Chapter 9 - The King of Chicago
Silas violently spun around, raising his suppressed weapon toward the elevator bank.
The polished steel doors slowly slid apart.
Luca Vale stepped out of the elevator.
He hadn't stopped to button his shirt. He hadn't put on a jacket. He moved with the terrifying, predatory stillness of a man who was entirely comfortable with extreme violence. His face was a mask of cold, absolute cinematic realism. His dark eyes locked instantly onto Silas, entirely ignoring the weapon pointed directly at his chest.
"You're in my house, Silas," Luca said, his voice deadly quiet, reverberating with profound, crushing authority.
For a split second, the three hardened hitmen actually hesitated. The sheer, overwhelming dominance radiating from the mafia boss paralyzed them. That singular second of hesitation was the only advantage Luca needed.
With blinding, explosive speed, Luca moved. He didn't use flashy, exaggerated movements. It was subtle, natural, and utterly lethal. He closed the distance in two massive strides, grabbing Silas’s wrist and violently twisting it upward until a sickening snap echoed through the lobby. Silas dropped the gun with a scream.
Before the other two men could even raise their weapons, Luca spun, driving his heavy leather shoe directly into the nearest enforcer’s knee, collapsing the man instantly. Luca caught the falling man's weapon mid-air, fluidly raising it and firing a single, silenced shot into the shoulder of the third man, pinning him violently against the marble pillar.
It was over in exactly four seconds. The lobby fell dead silent once again, save for the groans of the broken men on the floor.
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Clara collapsed to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably into her hands, completely overwhelmed by the explosive violence and the sudden wave of impossible relief.
👉 Luca had neutralized the immediate threat, but his final action would prove exactly why he was the most feared man in the city.
